The Library Fuzz

by James Holding

  Randall nodded. “Yeah. And I know you weren’t anywhere near the Carnival lot last night. When King bit Whitey.”

  “You keep saying King bit Whitey. Do you suspect that I had something to do with Whitey’s death?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Grissom laughed, a gentle cascade of amusement. “Why didn’t you say so? Aren’t you reaching pretty far, Lieutenant? I did everything possible to protect Whitey. You’ve proved it. I made him a present of my girl and my snake and my act. And I had an alibi, it seems, for the time some strange snake bit Whitey and killed him.” His eyes widened. “Say! How about my antivenin? I gave it to Whitey with the snake.”

  Randall’s yellow eyes blazed briefly at Grissom. “Why didn’t you teach Whitey to milk King, the way you did, instead of having him de-fanged?”

  “Too dangerous for the kid. There’s a trick to it. And the snake doesn’t relish it much, of course.”

  Randall stood up, feeling defeated. “Will you come down to Headquarters and take a look at the snake that bit Whitey?”

  “Sure, Lieutenant,” Grissom agreed readily. “I’d like to see him. But I’m warning you in advance that it won’t be King.” At the police laboratory in the basement of Headquarters building, Randall gestured toward the pot-bellied basket the lab men had consigned to the farthest corner of the big room. The lid was wired down.

  Grissom put on heavy leather gauntlets offered him by the lab man. “I wouldn’t need these if it was King,” he apologized. “He knows me. But with a strange snake—”

  Without hesitation, he unwrapped the wire that held down the basket lid. Then he lifted the lid with one hand, stepped back, and began to whistle a shrill tune, trying to imitate the flute sound, Randall guessed.

  Nothing happened.

  “Still sluggish,” the lab man hazarded, “from our cold treatment.”

  Grissom nodded and bent over the basket. With a sudden stab, he reached into the basket and brought out a foot and a half of snake, thick-bodied, dully shining, the evil head held away from him by a tight grip on the back of the snake’s neck. Randall could see the reptile making a half-hearted attempt to expand his hood, but he was very sluggish.

  Grissom turned the snake; this way and that, examining his markings. He looked up at Randall then, startled and bewildered.

  “This is the snake that bit Whitey?” he asked tensely.

  Randall nodded.

  “But this is King!” Grissom exclaimed then, almost shouting. “This is my snake, Lieutenant! Fie couldn’t have bitten Whitey!”

  Grissom dropped the basket lid on the floor and brought his other hand around forcing open the snake’s jaws. Plain to be seen were the two needle-like fangs, incurving, set at the forward end of the upper jawbone.

  “I told you,” said the lab man to Randall. “Fangs.”

  But Randall wasn’t watching the snake’s fangs. He was watching Grissom. And as Grissom exposed King’s fangs to view, Randall could have sworn a Bible oath that the only sign of emotion detectable in the snake charmer’s gentle blue eyes was a glimmer of amusement. Amusement.

  Grissom dropped the snake back in the basket and clapped on the lid. He turned accusingly to Randall, then said in a heavy, dumfounded kind of way, “For God’s sake, what is this. Lieutenant?” He held out a hand in appeal.

  “I’ll tell you,” Lieutenant Randall said “Come on up to my office.”

  They went to Randall’s office on the third floor and sat down, Randall behind his scarred desk, Grissom on the edge of a straight chair opposite him. With a negligent movement of his hand behind the desk top, Randall switched on the little tape recorder he had arranged. Its mike was concealed very cleverly in the paper-piled “out-going” basket not far from Grissom’s lips.

  “I’ll tell you what it is,” Randall went on as though he had never paused at all. “You murdered Whitey, Grissom. Because he took Gloriana away from you. And you did it with a brand new weapon. Ignorance.”

  Grissom stared uncomprehendingly. “You said King killed him, Lieutenant.”

  “King did kill him. But only because you kept Whitey in ignorance of one little fact about poisonous snakes. A fact that hardly anybody but a herpetologist, or a snake charmer, would know. Not even the city veterinarian who takes care of dogs and cats for the most part. It was very clever of you.” He waited.

  Grissom was the picture of injured innocence. He said, “I don’t need to sit here and take this kind of talk from you, Lieutenant. And you know it. But I want to know how King could bite Whitey when I had him de-fanged.”

  “I’ll tell you that, too. I didn’t know it myself until an hour ago, but any poisonous snake has a number of extra fangs in reserve in ease he breaks off a fang in capturing his prey.” Randall’s voice rose grimly “Or in case his good-hearted owner takes him to a vet and has his fangs pulled out to protect a trusting fool like Whitey.

  “I can remember what the book said, Grissom, word for word: ‘by the side of each functional fang is a series of new ones in different stages of development, hidden in special pockets of the mouth lining. As soon as a fang is lost or broken, one of the successional series moves into its place and is fused to the jawbone.’” He turned his yellow eyes on Grissom’s blue ones. “You get the picture, don’t you, Grissom?”

  Grissom’s mobile face expressed horrified disbelief. “You’re kidding, Lieutenant!”

  “Like King was kidding when he bit Whitey. Yeah.”

  “But that’s fantastic! I can’t believe it. You mean that after I had King’s fangs drawn last week and told Whitey King was harmless, another new set of fangs grew in right away?”

  Randall’s tone was bitter. “Having King de-fanged was a deliberate deception on your part. You did it to give Whitey and Gloriana a false sense of security with the snake, set them up for the kill. And you didn’t give a damn whether it was Whitey or Gloriana that King bit after he got his new fangs. You hated them both. Didn’t you?”

  Grissom didn’t seem to hear him. He dropped his face into his hands. “My God!” he said, agonized. “And I thought I was making sure Whitey couldn’t get hurt!”

  “You didn’t know anything about this extra fang business, is that it?”

  “Of course I didn’t, man! What do you take me for?”

  “A murderer,” said Randall simply. “What else? By remote control you murdered the guy that stole your girl.” If I’m ever going to get anything damaging out of him, he thought, this is about the time.

  But Grissom merely shook his head, his face still covered by his hands. He wouldn’t look at Randall. At length he mumbled, just above a whisper, “I didn’t know, Lieutenant Randall. I give you my solemn word I didn’t know that snakes can replace their fangs.”

  Randall lit one of his black cigars viciously. Did the guy know there was a recorder in the room?

  He puffed his cigar. Then he gave it one more try, thinking he might prod Grissom into admitting something by insulting him. He said in a quiet voice, “You knew about the fang replacement, Grissom. And you also know there’s no way in the world I can prove it. So get out of my office, will you? You’re stinking it up, scum. You’re all yellow. I’m not a bit surprised that you arranged for a dumb, dirty brainless snake to do your killing for you. Get out Grissom, before I lose my temper and feed you to your own snake!”

  Grissom’s eyes were still mild, still bland, still contrite-looking. But Randall was sure he saw that spark of sardonic amusement in them again. Grissom stood up.

  “If that’s the way you feel, I’ll go,” he said mildly. “I’ve got to get in touch with Gloriana, anyway. She must be feeling pretty low about poor Whitey.”

  He put on his hat and turned toward the door. “And thanks for the snake lecture, Lieutenant. It’s to learn exactly that kind of thing that I’m entering college this Fall. I don’t want to be a square all my life, you know, like you.”

  He went out.

  Randall blew acrid
smoke from his mouth and slapped the tape-recorder switch shut in a fury.

  Then he reached for his telephone. Capucino was eating dinner in the restaurant tent on the carny lot, but he came to the phone at once. “Any news. Lieutenant?” he asked, his voice sounding very cheerful.

  “What are you so happy about?” Randall barked at him.

  Capucino chuckled. “I kinda tried my luck with Gloriana again after you left this morning,” he said in his fast, fruity voice. “With Whitey gone, and Andy gone and all, I thought maybe she might be in a better mood, you know? And guess what?”

  Randall sighed. “What?”

  “She was. In a softer mood, I mean.”

  “Well, well. Congratulations, Cap. But watch yourself. Except for her, Whitey would still be alive.”

  “What’s that?” Capucino said. “How come?”

  Randall told him. Capucino listened in amazed silence. “I been in the carny business all my life,” he finally said, “and I never heard that about a snake before.”

  “Neither did Grissom,” said Randall. “He says.”

  “Don’t you believe him!” Capucino was incensed. “He’s a snake man! A specialist. He knew it, for sure. If he didn’t it’s funny as hell!”

  “It’s funny, all right,” said Randall sourly. “Can’t you hear me laughing?”